epting the BIBLE, that I had with me.

"Read that, Scipio," I said. "It is a book of poetry, but written by a
good man at the North, who greatly pities the slave."

He took the book, and the big tears rolled down his cheeks, as he said:
"Tank you, massa, tank you. Nobody war neber so good to me afore."

During our conversation, the sky, which had looked threatening all the
morning, began to let fall the big drops of rain; and before we reached
Conwayboro, it poured down much after the fashion of the previous night.
It being cruelty to both man and beast to remain out in such a deluge,
we pulled up at the village hotel (kept, like the one at Georgetown, by
a lady), and determined to remain overnight, unless the rain should
abate in time to allow us to reach our destination before dark.

Dinner being ready soon after our arrival (the people of Conwayboro,
like the "common folks" that Davy Crockett told about, dine at twelve),
I sat down to it, first hanging my outer garments, which were somewhat
wet, before the fire in the sitting-room. The house seemed to be a sort
of public boarding-house, as well as hotel, for quite a number of
persons, evidently town's-people were at the dinner-table. My appearance
attracted some attention, though not more, I thought, than would be
naturally excited in so quiet a place by the arrival of a stranger; but
"as nobody said nothing to me, I said nothing to nobody."

Dinner over, I adjourned to the "sitting-room," and seating myself by
the fire, watched the drying of my "outer habiliments." While thus
engaged, the door opened, and three men--whom I should have taken for
South Carolina gentlemen, had not a further acquaintance convinced me to
the contrary--entered the room. Walking directly up to where I was
sitting, the foremost one accosted me something after this manner:

"I see you are from the North, sir."

Taken a little aback by the abruptness of the "salute," but guessing his
object, I answered: "No, sir; I am from the South."

"From what part of the South?"

"I left Georgetown yesterday, and Charleston two days before that," I
replied, endeavoring to seem entirely oblivious to his meaning.

"We don't want to know whar you war yesterday; we want to know whar you
_belong_," he said, with a little impatience.

"Oh! that's it. Well, sir, I belong _here_ just at present, or rather I
shall, when I have paid the landlady for my dinner."

Annoyed by my coolness, and getting somew